


White Tiger

by Willow_Warbler



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Crushes, Emotional Repression, Gift Giving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump adjacent, common hobby, figurines, sam at his most neurotic prey animal, slightly graphic descriptions of accidental injuries, touch-starved but emotionally, whump elements but its not the main focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_Warbler/pseuds/Willow_Warbler
Summary: Sam finds a common interest with Deadman and nurses a bad crush on the first person who showed him interest and kindness in a long time.(Sam and Deadman bond over mutual love of figurines)
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Deadman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	White Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for giving my story a chance!  
> I've been trying to 100% Death Stranding and found out that Deadman will show up if you bring a memory chip with data on Frame Arms figurines. My brain immidiately went "Sam makes figurines in his private room... they can bond over their common hobby...". What can I say, my brain is jelly and Hideo Kojima is the hand repeatedly hitting me with a spoon.   
> I figured I write from Deadman's perspective enough and it's time to bully Sam a bit.  
> English is not my first language, so apologies if something is worded strangely.  
> Sincere apologies to anyone who's into Frame Arms or sculpturing in general, since this is probably innacurate to some degree.  
> Takes place in chapter two, so Sam is at his peak repressed and feral and Lou is still in her pod and doesn't have a name yet.  
> T for language, sensual themes and slightly graphic descriptions of injury (accidentally inflicted).

It started when he was sneaking through a field of BTs and his new BB malfunctioned. The shield went dark, kid was unresponsive, and the odradek bowed down, making pathetic little sounds from time to time. Sam was lucky he had experience in making it past BTs on his wits alone. After he was sure he was safe, the prickling feeling on his skin mostly gone, and he opted to call Deadman on his cufflinks.

He didn’t know him well, only aware that he used to be Bridget’s doctor in the last part of her life, and that he was as much of a newcomer to BRIDGES staff as he was, only joinig a year before. It was impressive how he rose through the ranks so quickly, becoming one of the head members responsible for the medical and science teams. If anyone will be able to help him, or at least tell him who could, it should be him.

\- Sam?- Deadman’s staticky voice responded.- Is something wrong?

\- Yeah, my BB’s fucking busted.- Sam huffed, more angry at the situation than the kid.- It just stopped responding when I was making through a BT zone.

\- Oh my! Are you okay?- He asked, honest concern in his voice.

\- Yeah, I’m fine, I’m past their territory.- Sam looked back at the inverted rainbow above the meadow he just left behind.- But I need someone to check if the kid’s all right. I’m near Capital Knot.

\- Come back to the isolation ward.- Deadman ordered.- I should have at least the rudamentory equipment to see what’s wrong. Tell the receptionist I’ve wanted to see you.

Sam pursed his lips, relieved that codec calls were audio only. He pulled on the straps of his backpack and went towards the towering buildings of Capital Knot.

*****************************************

Sam really didn’t like the BRIDGES facilities. They were too clean, borderline sterile, and it made his skin crawl. He always felt like he didn’t belong here, and wanted to come back to the mountains, rivers and fields, as far away as possible from here. The receptionist was nice enough, a charming young man in a red suit, marking him as a member of the medical staff. Sam stumbled through his words, looking away, eyes squinting when he muttered that Deadman „wanted to see him”. He hated the connotation, hoping that the receptionist won’t comment on this with a snide remark or an innuendo. Thankfully, Sam was spared that and given directions to Deadman’s office. He wondered if Deadman used this phrase for anyone who had buisness with him. Maybe he was the strange one in this scenario.

After wandering the maze of corriors for about ten minutes, he finally found the door with „DEADMAN” on a screen above it. Without much doubt, Sam knocked on the door.

\- Deadman? It’s me- He said loudly. His voice echoed in the empty hall.

\- Sam? Come in, come in!- Deadman’s voice was muffled due to thick door. They opened with a hiss.

Sam went inside, door closing after him. He shruddered, moreso on instinct than concious thought. He didn’t like the idea of his only possible escape route being closed off, despite knowing that Deadman won’t hurt him. Deadman stood up from his chiral printed, imacculate white desk and came to him.

\- Good to see you Sam!- He started off friendly. Sam noticed that his hand twitched, but ultimately stayed in its place, likely an aborted attempt at a handshake.- What brings you here? You’re having some troubles with your BB unit?

\- Yeah, it stopped working in the middle of a BT zone, no clue what happened.- Sam grabbed the pod at the top and bottom.

\- Well, your unit IS marked as defective, so it was to be expected that it will malfunction sooner or later.- Deadman shrugged.- Can you please give me the pod?

Sam unplugged the cord and let it go as it retracted itself into the suit, the odradek folding on his back. He grabbed the pod and handed it to Deadman. Sam could see that he was respectful of his boundaries, grabbing as far away from his palms as possible. It was the least anyone in BRIDGES could do for him, but seeing how they watched his every move, he bitterly accepted that he’s not going to be granted basic dignity by these people any time soon.

\- Hmm…- Deadman squinted at the „DANGER” notification near the bottom.- I have an idea on what could be wrong, but I need to do some tests. Don’t worry, it should take about fifteen minutes tops.

Deadman took the pod to a small, metal table near a wall. He took out a petri dish from a nearby shelf, the glass gently clanking against the table top.

\- I need a small sample of the amniotic fluid.- He turned his head to Sam.- It’s not invasive, don’t worry.

Sam wasn’t sure what to say.

Deadman didn’t seem to mind. He gently turned the valve on the bottom of the pod, a few drops of the fluid falling into the petri dish.

\- And that’s all I need.- He tightened the valve and gave BB back to Sam.- Wait here for a moment, all right? I need to take this to the lab.

He left the room, not waiting for (or maybe not expecting) an answer. Sam was alone, clutching the unresponsive BB to his chest. He sighed, not really knowing what he should do with himself. There was no seat here, other than the one behind Deadman’s desk, probably as hard and uncomfortable as any chiral-printed furniture. He just wanted to come back to his room, wash all that gunk he was covered in, let the water soften up his aching shoulders, fall down onto his cot and sleep. He felt like his feet were stuck to the floor. The fact that this room for sure had a camera in it, meaning someone was almost definetly watching him made him feel even more sick and awkward.

Sam decided to look around at the shelves mounted to the walls. They were pristine white, of course, like most things in this facility, making him feel like he didn’t belong here even more.

There was a potted plant that looked like some kind of a fern in a white, cubic planter. Sam managed to lift his feet up from the ground and came slightly closer to get a better look. He felt a strange sort of kinship with it, feeling like both of them should be far, far away from here, out in the vast american wilderness. He gently grabbed the leaves between his thumb and index finger, rolling them around.

It was plastic.

Of course.

Sam sighed. He looked around some more. A few books on anatomy (paperbacks, which was unusual), 3D printed models of organs, nothing he didn’t expect… and a figurine. Sam’s eyes widened in curiosity. It was the last thing he expected to see in a serious office, clashing a bit with the interior design. He came closer to inspect it.

It seemed to be a robot of some kind. Clad in brown and copper-colored armor, with thick legs, arms and chestplate, with an unproportionally small head. It had what seemed like a rocket launcher on its back, and an equally huge gun in its hand. The details were very impressive, showing the artist’s dedication to their craft. They even payed attention to the paint, making small specs of rust on the chassis. He kinda wanted to pick it up and see if the joints could be rotated, but he was too afraid of breaking it. He wanted to leave the office with as few traces of him being here as possible.

\- I have the results!- Deadman waltzed into the room, his voice causing Sam to flinch away from the shelves. He felt like he was caught red-handed.

\- So, what is it?- Sam asked, unable to look Deadman in the eyes.

\- Your BB is suffering from autotoxemia.- Deadman started to explain. Sam was hoping he’s not going to mention his behavior.- It’s nothing major, don’t worry. I’ve contacted the private rooms staff, asking them to heighten the oxytocin dosage in your private room’s incubator. This should be enough for now, and your BB should tire out slower next time you go out. You should still remember to watch out around BTs, too much stress can cause some long term harm.

\- Thanks.- Sam mumbled.

He started to leave, his boots echoing through the room.

\- Hey, Sam.- Deadman called to him, with an excitment in his voice.

Sam stopped. He pressed his eyes shut and grimaced, glad that Deadman couldn’t see his face.

\- Yeah?- He asked, trying to not sound too tired.

\- Are you… interested in figurines?- Deadman asked with a hope in his voice.

You can leave. The doors are right in front of you.

\- It just… caught my attention, that’s all.- He shrugged, almost wincing when his raw shoulder bruises rubbed against his suit.- Wasn’t going to steal it.

\- Oh, I’m not accusing you of that!- Deadman shook his head, as if slightly panicked.

\- I just thought it looks kinda unusual in here. A serious doctor office, with a robot figurine…- He continued, not sure why. He was usually ready to bolt the second he was allowed to, but this time he just… didn’t want to. Was he just talking nonsence due to how tired he was?

\- Yes, I’m aware it might look a bit silly.- Deadman laughed, a bit flustered. Sam felt his palms get sweaty under his gloves.- I got it as a gift from a collegue in Mountain Knot. It’s apparently a line of pre-Stranding figurines called Frame Arms. From what I know, it’s about these robots who were made to protect humanity, but were then used for nefarious purposes. Ah! Sorry!- Deadman must’ve noticed Sam’s eyelids closing by themselves, making him snap awake.- You should’ve told me you’re tired and not let me ramble.- He smiled awkwardly.

Sam didn’t mind. Not at all, which suprised even him. His stupid, exhausted brain gave him an image of Deadman rambling about his figurines while Sam was lying on his cot, letting his words lull him to sleep. An exhausted smile pulled on his lips.

\- How’s this one called?- Sam asked, pointing to the robot.

\- Mingwu.- Deadman said softly.

\- Can it move its arms and legs?- Sam asked, hoping his speech wasn’t too slurred.

\- The joints are fully rotable, yes.- Deadman smiled, clearly thrilled someone else wanted to talk with him about the details of the design.- But we can talk about it some other time. You should go to bed.- Deadman coaxed softly, a strange shiver going up Sam’s spine.- Remember to plug your BB into the incubator and contact me tomorrow if something’s wrong.

\- Okay.- Sam answered. It was the best he could manage in his condition.

\- Goodnight Sam.- Deadman smiled sweetly as Sam left.

He went down the corridor, staring at his boots and clutching BB’s pod close to his chest, hoping that nobody will see his stupid grin. Somehow, this building seemed friendlier than it did when he came in.

\------------------------------------------------

When Sam thought about a day off, he really imagined it differently than being cooped up in his private room on doctor’s orders.

It was a standard delivery from the distro center to Capital Knot, just some essentials and things like clothes or wood. He was making his way through a river, the muscles in his legs shaking from exhaustion. The current made him lose his balance and stumble. He though the was out of the proverbial hot water when he put his foot on the rocky shore, but he slipped anyway. He fell, the weight of his cargo pressing all the air from his lungs. His BB was merciful enough to spare him the wailing, only making a small wimper. Sam blinked slowly, trying to piece his brain together. He could feel the gravel biting into his face and the damp moss on a few larger rocks. His heart was pounding in his chest, likely from adrenaline. He felt each bump especially strong in his left bicep, oddly enough. He groaned and started to lift himself up, pulling his right hand closer to him, using it as a leverage. He pushed himself off the ground, small rocks falling off his cheek, his insides still feeling compressed from the weight of the cargo being slammed on him. Weird, why was his left arm so much wetter? He blearily lifted it up, closer to his face.

It wasn’t sweat. It was blood. Gushing from the wound with each beat of his heart.

Oh fuck.

He landed on an incredibly sharp rock that sliced open his sleeve and skin, apparently damaging his artery.

Sam felt all of his muscles and throat clench. He knew he wouldn’t die, not permanently, but his human psyche still found this deeply disturbing and stressful. He was so close to his destination, maybe fifteen minutes if he booked it. He lifted himself up on his quaking legs and started to run. The blood started to come out of his wound faster and faster, dripping down to his fingers, damping his gloves. He tried to not focus on it too much, desperate to get to Capital Knot. He already knew he was going to die, but he can at least deliver his cargo as fast as possible, not having to keep people in the city waiting.

He started to wheeze, his tounge sticking out of his mouth. At least he could still breathe, somehow managing to not crush his ribs or windpipe.

He finally made it, his legs giving out from under him at the concrete ramp leading through the forcefield that allowed or denied access. His teeth gnashed agaist eachother as his jaw slammed down. Half of his body fell through it, meaning someone responsible for the distro center will come pick it up.

He lied there, fully accepting his death. BB started to cry, his exhausted body only managing to weakly place his right palm on the pod to soothe it. He heaved, his tounge out of his mouth, laying on the filthy concrete beneath. The sleeve of his uniform sticking sickly to his wound. Darkness crept into his vision. Sam was ready to get swallowed by it, to wake up to the cold water of the Seam engulfing him. His eyes closed.

But no water came. Instead, he woke up in a private room, hooked to the blood sapping mechanism that he was plugged to when he slept. Almost immidietly a doctor clad in a red, tar-proof suit BRIDGES doctors wore came into his room. Sam thought it was creepy she knew he woke up so fast, only to then realise his cufflinks probably ratted him out. That didn’t make him feel much better.

She explained that a quick rescuse action managed to save his life and keep him from repatriation and that he was put on mandatory bed rest untill tomorrow. Untill then, no leaving the facility. She asked if there was something he wanted brought to him to occupy his time.

\- Yes.- He answered, his eyes narrow.- Green clay and a sculpturing knife.

******************************************************

To his suprise, the facility actually had both of these things at hand, and gave them to him without much trouble. He was sitting on his cot, leaning against the wall, his feet dangling in the air. He played whatever music was in the database, just to keep him some company and drown out the quiet hum that reminded him he was getting a blood tranfusion. Apparently all the blood they were taking from him could help him, for once, and not everyone else. BB’s pod would lit up every now and again, kid’s face smushed agains the glass, looking at Sam. He wondered if it was concerned for his health or just curious why they weren’t on the road.

Sam was sculpturing a BRIDGES truck. He had the rough shape already, and was now focused on adding the necessary details with the knife.

He was always a bit of a craftsman. He used to own a book on origami when he was a kid, and he spend entire evenings following instructions, creating angular figurines of animals. He must’ve made every one at least three times. He probably remembered every single tutorial to this day. When he was old enough to be trusted with a knife, he started to sculpture in clay. The post-stranding one was often infused with small amounts of chiralium, making it similar to soft plastic. He thought he was pretty good at it, after years of practice, but he was never confident enough to show it off to anyone, not even Lucy knew. The only person who did was Amelie.

Sam sighed. He hoped he could come back to his quest soon, if only for her safety.

This wasn’t too bad. He’s not going to complain about having a bit of time to rest. He just wished he wasn’t chained to this place. He couldn’t fully relax, because he was constantly aware of someone possibly looking at him, and it just made his skin crawl.

\- Sam? It’s Deadman, can I come in?- Sam’s breath hitched in his throat.

He quickly put the figurine and knife next to him, hoping Deadman won’t notice.

\- Yes!- Sam answered, lowering the volume of the music.

Deadman entered his room, holding a plate of food in his hands.

\- Good evening Sam!- Deadman said, chipper as almost always.- I’m just doing rounds to check on any patients we have, to make sure nobody needs any special care for the night.- He placed the plate on the table near Sam’s cot.- I also brought you your dinner, since you’re not exactly able to get it yourself, with all the blood transfusion mechanism attached to your arm.

Sam’s stomach rumbled. Fuck, it was dinner time already? He really hated the fact that all of these rooms were underground, with no windows to control the time of day.

The serving included potatoes, kale leaves with tomatoes and two chicken patties. It wasn’t anything fancy, sure, but for Sam, who’s been subsisting on cryptobiotes and whatever lab-made nutricional schlop that was distributed to porters, this was a feast. He wasted no time and started to stuff his mouth.

\- Oooh, I see that you still have an appetite, that’s great!- Deadman activated a hologram screen from his cufflinks.- Means you’re recovering well.

Sam didn’t answer, too busy cramming potatoes in his mouth.

\- I won’t take you too much time, I promise.- Deadman continued, probably already used to Sam not being too chatty.- I just need to take a look at your wound, ask a few questions, and I’ll be on my way. I promise I won’t touch you unless your life is threatened. You seem to be doing quite well, however.- Deadman said, amused.- Can you please show me your arm?

Sam stretched his left arm, not stopping his meal.

\- Ah, you didn’t pop you stitches! Good!- Deadman said, excited, noting something on his cufflinks.- Well, for you, mostly. The BRIDGES team would always help you, of course, but stitching a wound requires a lot of close physical contact and holding your arm down.

Sam was finishing up his dinner, swallowing the last few bites.

\- You eat really fast.- Deadman said, Sam wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or just stating the obvious.

\- I wouldn’t if we had something like this every day, instead of this disgusting paste.- Sam wiped his face with his forearm.

\- I know, most porters would agree with you, but the lab-made nutrient paste guarantees you all the necessary microelements and protein required to do your job well and keep your body in a tip-top shape. It’s much more difficult to guarantee it with regular food.- Deadman explained.- It has to be used for the sick and wounded to make it more appealing to the human brain and not make the recovery proces any longer than necessary.

Sam hummed, pulling one of his legs onto his cot, looking away.

\- Ah, my apologies, you should’ve stopped me when I was rambling.- Deadman fiddled with the hologram once again, switching it to a different screen.- I need to ask you a few questions about your condition. Have you observed anything seeping from the wound? Blood, pus, any other liquid?

\- No.

\- Does the wound itch?- He continued.

\- No.- Sam kept his eyes downcasted.

\- Do you feel dizzy when you stand up or walk?- Deadman’s eyes were thankfully focused on his cufflinks.

\- No.- Sam pulled his second leg up, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each question.

\- Do you feel any significant pain? We can give you more morphine if it’s necessary.- Deadman said, oblivious to Sam’s tension.

\- No.- Sam furrowed his eyebrows, hoping this was the last one.

He really didn’t understand what was happening to him. These questions made him feel queasy, in the same way being touched did, despite Deadman standing a respectable few steps away from him, like he promised. They really fed the part of his brain that was starving for any kind of attention and care from other people, the one he so desperatly tried to smother. He knew that Deadman’s questions were strictly professional, likely standardised and asked to every other poor bastard who impaled themselves, but he still savoured whatever crumbs he was given, and he hated himself for that. You can’t fight your nature as a social animal, he supposed.

\- All right, that’s great to hear!- Deadman deactivated the hologram.- It seems like we will let you out tomorrow morning, if everything goes right. Any problems with your BB?

\- No, it’s fine.- Sam moved closer to the edge of the bed, resting his feet on the cold floor.

\- Sam? Why do you have a knife in your bed…?- Deadman pointed to the blade, concern in his voice.

\- It’s-I don’t want to hurt myself, don’t worry.- Sam started to babble. Fuck, he forgot about the knife and figurine for a moment.- It’s just a sculpting knife.

_You’re a moron, Sam._

\- A sculpting knife? You’re a sculpturer?- Deadman’s voice excited.- Can I see?

Sam’s throat tightened and he started to dart his eyes while staring at the floor. Why did he say that? He wanted BRIDGES to know as little about him as possible. He had no clue how Deadman managed to get him to open up as much as he did. There was just something endearing and… sweet about him. Like he actually wanted to know more about him, and not just treat him as muscle who’s life and comfort can be pushed aside.

\- I guess.- He murmured and handed him his work, without looking at his face. He couldn’t force himself to do this.

Deadman gently took the figurine from him, watching for his fingers.

\- It’s… unfinished.- Sam tried to justify any lacking details before Deadman would point them out.

\- Is this your first work?- Deadman asked. Sam wasn’t sure what he was doing, since he still kept his eyes on the floor, awkwardly fiddling with his hands.

\- No, I used to sculpture more when I was younger.- He said, his voice so sure he even suprised himself.

\- Sam, I never thought you have any artistic inclinations!- Deadman marveled.

_There’s a lot you don’t know about me_ , Sam mused.

\- Eh, it’s nothing, really.- Sam shrugged.- Just something to pass the time, I guess.

\- Sam, you’re selling yourself short.- Sam still couldn’t lift his head up, like his vertibrae were locked, so he couldn’t look at any other part of Deadman than his shoes.- You have an eye of the artist! The details are incredible, you even got the scratches on the doors! Not everyone could replicate something they saw with such care and attention!- Deadman kept praising, honest pride and awe clear in his voice.

Sam felt a blush creep up his neck, shoulders hitching. Fuck, even his ears felt hot. Deadman’s words felt like a hand, gently carding through his hair and down his neck, making him shiver, the warmth soothing his racing mind. He kinda hated himself for being so desperate for kind words and acknowledgement, but he didn’t want it to stop either.

\- It’s… It’s not from memory- He swallowed.

\- That doesn’t change anything.- Deadman said, his voice sure.

Sam hoped the blood rushing through his body won’t rip up his damaged artery. His wound started to itch.

\- Well, Sam, I won’t take up any more of your time.- Deadman extended his hand with the figurine back to Sam.- You should be re-

\- Do you want to keep it?- Sam finally lifted his head, staring straight into Deadman’s suprised eyes.- If not, that’s-that’s fine, I just thought you might want to…- He started to back out. God, what was wrong with him? He was usually much better in keeping his composure. Was it the painkillers they had to give him?

\- Really? You want me to have this?- Deadman sounded genuinely moved.- Thank you Sam. It really means a lot.- His smile honest and kind.

\- N… no problem.- Sam pursed his lips.

\- I wish I could stay longer, but I sadly have things to attend to.- Deadman held his new gift with such care it made Sam’s heart hurt.- I’m glad to see you’re feeling well. Thank you so much for a new piece for my collection. You should rest now. Just remember to put that knife away.- He chuckled and left the room, Sam’s eyes trailing after him.

He placed the knife on the table, and flopped back onto the bed. He sighed, staring at the pristine celling above him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

He really didn’t expect the Timefall, though maybe he should.

The second his hood unfolded over his head, Sam rushed towards a cave in a nearby rocky wall. He was on his route to Capital Knot from The Musician, with some miscellaneous items, nothing they needed ASAP. He decided it’s not worth it to risk his life again if he wasn’t delivering anything vital. He really wanted to scratch his arm, the healing wound itching from time to time.

He sat down on the hard cavern floor. Far from the most comfortable he’s ever been, but it’ll have to do. Sam leaned back slightly, resting his cargo on the ground. He let out a shaky groan when he loosened up the straps of his backpack, peeling them from his bruised shoulders and aching muscles.

He stared at the small plants rapidly growing and dying right in front of his shelter. The raindrops falling onto rocks created a plesant white noise, the cave only amplifying it. It was soothing. Sam had absolutely no problems with staying here for an hour or so.

Sam took out a small lump of clay and the same sculpting knife from the utility pouch on his belt. He has never taken anything related to his hobby out on his travels before, but something just compelled him when he was getting ready this morning, when he saw the knife still lying on his table.

Inspired by the enviroment, he decided to create a small figurine of a BT. The lighting was far from great, but it should suffice for creating the basic shape, and he will add the details when he comes back to his private room.

Sam got to work.

*************************************************************************

The vibration and a ring of his cufflinks got him out of his trance. Startled, he clenched his jaw on his tounge, not aware of the fact that he was sticking it out. The information on the hologram told him it was Deadman calling him. Sam rolled his eyes, and begrudgingly accepted.

\- Sam!- Deadman’s voice slightly worried.- Is everything okay? Your cufflinks haven’t registered any significant movement in the past twenty minutes.

\- Nobody in BRIDGES has to babysit me.- Sam wanted to lash out, but some part of him was restraining his anger, not wanting to snarl at Deadman specifically.- I got caught in Timefall, I’m waiting in a cave.

\- My apologies Sam.- Deadman sighed.- I didn’t mean to bother you, it’s a standard procedure. I just needed to make sure you weren’t injured and in need of assistance, or, god forbid, died.

\- You know I can’t die permanently.- Sam huffed.- Why do you bother.

\- Sam…- Deadman said sadly, maybe even a bit dissapointed.- Just because your death isn’t permanent that doesn’t mean we should just accept it without even trying to help you.

Sam exhaled, anger leaving his lungs along with a cloud of vapor.

\- Anything else happened you need to tell me about?- Sam said, more with bitter tiredness than aggression. He returned to sculpturing, gently scraping the knife on the part that’s going to be a hand.

\- Yes, actually!- Deadman’s voice suddenly filled with excitement, Sam stifled a smile.- I’ve conducted a few experiments with your blood. After dispersing an aerolised sample in BT territory, we observed reduced activity! Mama offered to design grenades that will explode in a cloud of your blood. They should be ready when you come here, we would love it if you’d test them out for us. When you’ll have a moment, of course.

\- Mhm.- Sam responded, focused on getting the elbow right.

\- Sam, this is huge! We will finally have a chance against BTs!- Deadman spoke, his voice slightly higher.- We can arm porters, prevent voidouts, give humanity a chance in fighting back! Are you not excited?!

\- I guess so.- Sam tilted his head to look at the piece of clay from another angle.- First we need to see if they work how you want them too.

\- I see you’re not the optimistic type.- Deadman said, more amused than irritated.- You know, I actually didn’t know your bloodtype is 0 negative.

\- What about it?- Sam narrowed his eyes, sculpturing the forearm. He was really determined to keep pulling Deadman’s tounge and listen to his voice for as long as he could.

\- Nothing in paticular, I just thought it was amusing.- Deadman kept the lighthhearted tone in his voice.- The man reconnecting humanity being a universal donor. Even your bloodtype is kind.

Sam swallowed, hoping to get rid of the tightness in his throat.

\- Ah, Sam, why do you never tell me I’m rambling!- Deadman sighed, annoyed, but it seemed like it was mostly at himself.

\- I don’t mind.

Sam flinched at his own confession. The timefall peltering outside mixing with the blood rushing in his ears.

\- You… don’t?- Deadman’s voice eased his panic. He sounded so similar to Sam, like this was the first time in a long while someone was actually paying attention to him.

\- No.- Sam responded quietly. He was so glad this was an audio call.- It helps me focus on my sculpturing.

\- You’re sculpturing right now?!- Deadman seemed more impressed than angry.

\- Yeah.

\- You’re really dedicated to the craft, I see.- Deadman laughed, causing Sam to clench his jaw.- What are you creating?

\- A BT.- Sam started to correct the shoulder, which seemed a bit too big to him.

\- Inspired by your surroundings?

\- You can say that.- Sam looked out into the pouring timefall. It seemed like it’s not going to stop any time soon.

\- How far along are you?- Deadman seemed honestly interested in Sam’s work, much to his relief. The last thing he wanted was to make Deadman feel like he has to talk to him and oh god-

\- Just the basic shape.- Sam managed to say, chasing away his panicked thoughts.- I’ll add the detail later.

\- You don’t feel like going out to collect some references?- Deadman joked.

\- I’ve seen these bastards up close so many times I can do this from memory.- Sam shrugged, too lost in his thoughts to remember that Deadman can’t see him.

\- I’d imagine you did.- Sam could hear the fond smile on Deadman’s lips, which tinted his ears.- You ever wanted to start doing this professionally? Quit being a porter, settle down in a Knot City and just make figurines? Maybe not right this instant, but in the future?

\- Nah.- Sam narrowed his eyes, wanting to get the fingers on the BT right.- I’m not good enough. I’ll stick to hauling ass way above my limit for everyone around. ‘Sides, I don’t think I could live in a city.

_Not after Lucy._

\- You know my opinion about your art, Sam.- He again felt that disgusting sweetness in the pit of his stomach.- If times were different, you could be a great sculpturer and I’d be your genrous patron.

\- I think you should invest in someone with real talent.- Sam scoffed.- Like these guys who made the figurine you have. Frame Arms? You found out anything new about them?

\- I’m glad you asked!- Deadman’s voice almost praising, once again turning Sam’s brain into mush.- You remember that prepper you linked up a few days ago? Ludens Fan?

\- Mhm.- Sam responded, gently smoothing out the figurine’s tricep.

\- It turns out he not only collects items related to Ludens, but different figurines and merchendise too! Ludens just seems like his main interest. He already sent me a few statuettes he already had copies of.

\- Mh.

\- He send me a message asking if I know anything about a line of figurines called „Frame Arms”. He said he has one, byakko, but he isn’t really interested in them and was looking for some kind soul who would be interested in preserving it.

\- And you accepted?- Sam lisped a bit, due to his tounge sticking out in concentration.

\- Of course!- Deadman chuckled.

\- And? How does it look on the shelf?- A smile pulled on the corners of his lips, tip of his tounge still out.

\- Well…- Deadman’s voice suddenly got sadder, making Sam’s heart drop to his stomach.- It… didn’t get here.

\- What? Why? Destroyed?- Sam rapid fired questions.

\- MULEs.- Deadman sighed.- The porter handling the order is still quite new and lost mine and a few others cargo during an ambush. I’m just glad he got out alive and didn’t lose anything urgently needed.

\- Oh.- Sam said quietly, staring into the field in front of the cave.- I’m… sorry.

\- Don’t be.- Deadman said softly. Sam could imagine his eyes crinkling softly, breath hitching in his throat.- Like I’ve said, it’s not that important. I’m sure someone will recover it sooner or later.

\- Yeah…- Sam swallowed, hoping to loosen up his throat.

\- In any case, I hope the timefall will stop soon and you can come to Capital Knot safely. Contact me when you get here, okay?- Deadman asked, with clear concern in his voice.

\- Okay.- Sam barely spat out.

\- See you soon, Sam.- Deadman said almost lovingly and ended the call.

Sam was left in silence, once again, save for the timefall outside and the sound of his own breathing. The pod attached to his chest lit up, his BB pressed its face against the glass. It was looking straight at him, with the look in its eyes like it understood more than everyone around let on.

But that’s impossible, right?

Sam gently padded the pod. BB smiled at him, and the shield went dark.

He decided to work on the legs next.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam slid into the tall gras, hiding from MULEs.

It’s been a few days since his talk in a cave with Deadman, and since then he couldn’t forget about it. Something about his voice back then just etched his way into his memory, and he couldn’t let go. He did all of his deliveries for today, he could go to a private room, eat his disgusting paste, take a shower and sleep. Something in the back of his mind, however, wouldn’t let him rest untill he got that figurine. Even when he managed to doze off, he would see visions of Deadman, so happy he that recieved his gift from Sam he’d come to him, tangle his hair in his fingers and kiss him so hard he’d leave him breathless. Sam would always jolt awake, his cheeks warm and his mind both terrified and wanting more. He’d hoped getting that figurine can allow him to finally get one night of sleep. He really didn’t need these confusing dreams right now.

That, and he felt like he owed it to Deadman. He was always kind to him, helping him and his BB on their expedition, looking after their well-being and health. It seemed right to show gratitude in some way. Raiding a MULE camp was something well within Sam’s repertoir anyway.

He made his way through the grass, pulling out his strand. He didn’t take anything other than two bola guns to not give himself away that easy. He just wanted to sneak in, take what he wanted and leave. He didn’t have it in him today to get into fights.

One MULE passed next to him, seemingly unaware of his presence. Sam threw the strand around his neck and pressed it, cutting off the oxygen to his brain and choking out the scream in his throat. The stranger quickly went limp, Sam roughly put him down, hoping to silence his fall, and bound his arms and legs. He pulled him deeper into the grass to avoid his friends finding him out too fast.

He quickly sneaked to the right, into another patch of tall foliage, unnoticed by two MULEs patroling the camp. The postbox where they kept all the stolen cargo was in sight, he just had to get past a rickety tent they set up. He could do this.

He pushed away the plants like he was swimming in water, and crept into the wide open shelter.

It was messy. Couches and unmade cots pushed together, shelves stacked with parts of chiral printed guns, boxes, and whatever items they could find or take out of the cargo containers. Sam really hoped they didn’t got to byakko’s box yet. He exhaled through his nose, needing to ground himself but not wanting to cause unecessary sound with sighing. He went, crouched, to a smaller room with some materials boxes on hastily-made desks. He considered nabbing one or two of smaller containers, so that he could have more resources in a nerby distro center, but winced at the thought of carrying anything more on his shoulders today.

He peeked through the open tent flap. The postbox was right there, few steps to the left. The MULEs he was worried about were standing and chatting near another tent, next to where he came from. They were facing away from him, thank god. Sam clenched his jaw and forced his straining legs to quickly close the distance. He was so close, he just needed to grab the box and go.

The cufflink hologram bathed his tense face with red glow. As much as Sam hated them, they were undoutebly useful in some situations. After few seconds that dragged like hours, the heavy door opened, showing various containers of cargo lost by (or more likely stolen from) porters. He immidietly knew he can throw away the orange boxes, sure that they can only contain materials. He put them aside as fast as his shaking hands would allow, trying his best to not make any noise, hoping that the damp soil and grass will muffle any sound.

He was only left with a dozen or so haphazardly stacked boxes of regular cargo. Getting closer, slowly but surely. He quickly checked the labels on the boxes: clothes, no, old books, no, rare minature cars, no, but getting closer…

RARE PRE-STRANDING FIGURINE

FROM: LUDENS FAN

TO: DEADMAN, CAPITAL KNOT CITY

Bingo.

An excited smirk pulled on Sam’s lips. He clutched the cargo box, still in good condition, oddly enough, and started to back away as carefully as possible.

\- PORTER!- He heard a call that chilled his blood.

The two MULEs who were on patrol nearby were turned towards him. Sam felt like a deer in the headlight. Adrenaline and primal instincts kicked in, telling him to run. He bolted, passing them by, not sparing them a glance. He could sense them following, trailing his steps like he was their prey. He held the cargo box close to his chest, desperate to leave with it. An electrified spear wizzed past his ear, impaling itself in the ground, sending sparks on the grass. Sam managed to dodge it and kept running. He could hear the MULE truck’s horn in the distance, cutting through the otherwise silent field like a call of a beast from another world.

He could see the sensors, he was almost there. Suddenly, his left leg buckled. He hopped a few times on his right one, and quickly glanced behind him.

One of the poles was burried in the earth behind him, electric current crackling all around. He could feel his calf spazz and twitch in pain. Fuck.

He placed his weight on the hurt leg. He managed to stifle a scream, but a groan of pain still crawled from his throat. It was so close. Just a few more steps.

Sam ran towards the sensors, passing next to them, doing his best to choke back any tears and screams. He knew the MULEs stopped following him, but he still felt the need to run and get away from the threat as far away as possible. He finally felt safe, or at least exhausted enough to fall on his knees near a riverbank. He gently put away the container with his shaking hands and collapsed on all fours, heaving and gasping for breath.

God, he really hoped that model was in one piece.

**********************************************************************

Finding Deadman’s office was much easier the second time around. He was so giddy about this whole thing, he hasn’t felt like this in years, hell, maybe ever. It was a similar feeling to tension he felt when he made it past MULEs, but it’s like he was awaiting the confrontation, not terrified by it. His blood was rushing through his body, pulse tingling in the tips of his fingers.

\- Deadman, you there?- Sam knocked on the door to Deadman’s office.

\- Sam?- The voice undeniably belonged to Deadman.- Give me a second.

Sam swallowed in anticipation. The door opened, Deadman standing in front of Sam.

\- How can I help y-

\- Special delivery.- Sam outstretched his hand, dangling the cargo box in front of Deadman. He could feel a grin pulling on all the tendons in his cheeks.

\- Hm? But I didn’t order anything new.- Deadman took the box from Sam, turning it in his palms.- You could’ve just left it in the distribution center, I’d pick it up later-

\- No.- Sam cut him off, maybe a bit too harshly. He just wanted to see the look on his face when he opens it, and the anticipation was killing him.- It’s something special.

\- All right, all right.- Deadman chuckled.- I mostly ment that you didn’t have to come all the way here, you’re probably exhausted.

Deadman unclasped the buckles holding the case closed, the clicks echoing through the corridor. He gently lifted the lid, blood rushing in Sam’s ears.

\- Sam…!- Deadman’s voice was quiet, like he had to actively fight to stifle it.- You got this for me?

\- Yeah.- Sam practically whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to speak louder, his throat tight.

\- Oh Sam…!- Deadman was clearly choked up.- I could kiss you right now, you sweet son of a bitch!

Sam jumped away, startled, like he still had some electricity in his calf that has now spread through his entire body. _Isn’t this what you were dreaming about?_

_Make up your mind._

\- My apologies, Sam!- Deadman hastily tried to fix his mistake, noticing Sam’s fear.- I-It’s just an expression, I would never do something like that, I promise.

Sam relaxed his shoulders, hoping that the high collar of his porter uniform wil at least partially obscure his scorching cheeks.

\- I know.- He answered, avoiding his eyes.- Is it still in one piece?

\- It’s in its original packaging, if that’s what you mean.- Deadman started to explain.- You actually have to assemble these models yourself. It looks fresh from the factory, so I assume it has all the parts.

\- That’s good.- Sam’s lips twitched in a badly stifled smile, hidden under the high collar.

\- I hope you didn’t get hurt or went out of your way to get it…?- Deadman’s voice concerned.- I’d hate it if something happened to you because of me.

\- N-no, it was fine.- Sam ignored the cramp of his calf, subconciously leaning his weight more on his right leg to let the muscle rest.- Just sneaked in and out.

\- That’s a relief.- Deadman smiled.- Sam… You really are my knight in shining armor, you know?

They were staring into eachothers’ eyes. Deadman’s words felt like a hand being slipped against his cheek, a thumb brushing along his lower lip, fingertips touching against his earlobe. He knew it was only in his imagination, but for some reason he felt like he wouldn’t mind if it really happened. It really baffled him, his anxious brain would usually send him into a frenzy if he even thought about someone grabbing his hand or brushing against him. The sheer concept of someone touching his face on purpose would make him gag.

_You really got it bad, huh?_

\- I’m sorry Sam, I hope I’m not too forward.- Deadman closed the cargo case with a click.- Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable.

\- ‘S fine.- Sam slurred, trying to keep his brain from melting into a puddle.

_Idiot._

\- Thank you for doing this for me, Sam. I really think your work is underapreciated.- Deadman kept staring at him with those adoring eyes, making Sam feel giddy.- I think I can find some time today to put it together. Would you like to join me? If you’re interested, of course. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of recovery time.

\- Y-yeah, I do.- Sam grasped the straps of his backpack to calm himself down a bit.

\- Wonderful. I’ll give you a call on your cufflinks when I’ll be done with work. Maybe you can give me some tips, mister sculpturer?- Deadman chuckled.

\- Heh.- Sam, turned his eyes away, flattered.- I doubt it will be needed, but sure.

\- Then we’re set. For now, go get some rest. I don’t want you falling asleep on our woking table.- He looked at Sam’s tired eyes fondly.

\- I will.

\- See you soon, Sam.- Deadman said, softly, and returned to his office, leaving Sam alone in the corridor.

Sam wrapped his arms around BB’s pod, wanting to share his joy with somebody.

At least tonight his night will be sleepless for a more plesant reason than unwanted dreams. 


End file.
